The Crystal Shard frid-1

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  “So it shall be for my people,” said another voice. The three spokesmen turned to see the giant Wulfgar striding out from the dusty, surrealistic scene of carnage. The barbarian was caked in dirt and spattered with the blood of his enemies, but he looked every bit the noble king. “I request an invitation to your council, Cassius. There is much that our people can offer to each other in this harsh time.”

  Kemp growled. “If we need beasts of burden, we’ll buy oxen.”

  Cassius shot Kemp a dangerous look and addressed his unexpected ally. “You may indeed join the council, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar. For your aid this day, my people owe yours much. Again I ask you, why did you come?”

  For the second time that day, Wulfgar ignored Kemp’s insults. “To repay a debt,” he replied to Cassius. “And perhaps to better the lives of both our peoples.”

  “By killing goblins?” Jensin Brent asked, suspecting that the barbarian had more in mind.

  “A beginning,” Wulfgar answered. “Yet there is much more that we may accomplish. My people know the tundra better than even the yetis. We understand its ways and know how to survive. Your people would benefit from our friendship, especially in the hard times that lay ahead for you.”

  “Bah!” Kemp snorted, but Cassius silenced him. The spokesman from Bryn Shander was intrigued by the possibilities.

  “And what would your people gain from such a union?”

  “A connection,” Wulfgar answered. “A link to a world of luxuries that we have never known. The tribes hold a dragon’s treasure in their hands, but gold and jewels do not provide warmth on a winter night, nor food when game is scarce.”

  “Your people have much rebuilding to do. My people have the wealth to assist in that task. In return, Ten-Towns will deliver my people into a better life.” Cassius and Jensin Brent nodded approvingly as Wulfgar laid out his plan.

  “Finally, and perhaps most important,” the barbarian concluded, “is the fact that we need each other, for the present at least. Both of our peoples have been weakened and are vulnerable to the dangers of this land. Together, our remaining strength would see us through the winter.”

  “You intrigue and surprise me,” Cassius said. “Attend the council, then, with my personal welcome, and let us put in motion a plan that will benefit all who have survived the struggle against Akar Kessell!”

  As Cassius turned, Wulfgar grabbed Kemp’s shirt with one of his huge hands and easily hoisted the spokesman from Targos off the ground. Kemp swatted at the muscled forearm, but realized that he had no chance of breaking the barbarian’s iron grip. Wulfgar glared at him dangerously. “For now,” he said, “I am responsible for all of my people. Thus have I disregarded your insults. But when the day comes that I am no longer king, you would do well to cross my path no more!” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the spokesman to the ground.

  Kemp, too intimidated for the present to be angry or embarrassed, sat where he landed and did not respond. Cassius and Brent nudged each other and shared a low chuckle.

  It only lasted until they saw the girl approaching, her arm in a bloody sling and her face and auburn hair caked with layers of dust. Wulfgar saw her, too, and the sight of her wounds pained him more than his own ever could.

  “Catti-brie!” he cried, rushing to her. She calmed him with an outstretched palm.

  “I am not badly injured,” she assured Wulfgar stoically, though it was obvious to the barbarian that she had been sorely injured. “Though I dare not think of what would have befallen me if Bruenor had not arrived!”

  “You have seen Bruenor?”

  “In the tunnels,” Catti-brie explained. “Some orcs found their way in—perhaps I should have collapsed the tunnel. Yet there weren’t many, and I could hear that the dwarves were doing well on the field above.

  “Bruenor came down then, but there were more orcs at his back. A support beam collapsed; I think Bruenor cut it out, and there was too much dust and confusion.”

  “And Bruenor?” Wulfgar asked anxiously.

  Catti-brie looked back across the field. “Out there. He has asked for you.”

  * * *

  By the time Drizzt reached the rubble that had been Cryshal-Tirith, the battle was over. The sights and sounds of the horrible aftermath pressed in all about him, but his goal remained unchanged. He started up the side of the broken stones.

  In truth, the drow thought himself a fool for following such a hopeless cause. Even if Regis and Guenhwyvar hadn’t gotten out of the tower, how could he possibly hope to find them?

  He pressed on stubbornly, refusing to give in to the inescapable logic that scolded him. This was where he differed from his people, this was what had driven him, finally, from the unbroken darkness of their vast cities. Drizzt Do’Urden allowed himself to feel compassion.

  He moved up the side of the rubble and began digging around the debris with his bare hands. Larger blocks prevented him from going very deep into the pile, yet he did not yield, even squeezing into precariously tight and unstable crevices. He used his burned left hand little, and soon his right was bleeding from scraping. But he continued on, moving first around the pile, then scaling higher.

  He was rewarded for his persistence, for his emotions. When he reached the top of the ruins, he felt a familiar aura of magical power. It guided him to a small crevice between two stones. He reached in tentatively, hoping to find the object intact, and pulled out the small feline figurine. His fingers trembled as he examined it for damage. But he found none—the magic within the object had resisted the weight of the stones.

  The drow’s feelings at the find were mixed, however. Though he was relieved that Guenhwyvar had apparently survived, the presence of the figurine told him that Regis had probably not escaped to the field. His heart sank. And sank even farther when a sparkle within the same crevice caught his eye. He reached in and pulled out the golden chain with the ruby pendent, and his fears were confirmed.

  “A fitting tomb for you, brave little friend,” he said somberly, and he decided at that moment to name the pile Regis’s Cairn. He could not understand, though, what had happened to separate the halfling from his necklace, for there was no blood or anything else on the chain to indicate that Regis had been wearing it when he died.

  “Guenhwyvar,” he called. “Come to me, my shadow.” He felt the familiar sensations in the figurine as he placed it on the ground before him. Then the black mist appeared and formed into the great cat, unharmed and somewhat restored by the few hours it had spent back on its own plane.

  Drizzt moved quickly toward his feline companion, but then he stopped as a second mist appeared a short distance away and began to solidify.

  Regis.

  The halfling sat with his eyes closed and his mouth opened wide, as though he was about to take an enjoyable and enormous bite out of some unseen delicacy. One of his hands was clenched to the side of his eager jowls, and the other open before him.

  As his mouth snapped shut on empty air, his eyes snapped open in surprise. “Drizzt!” he groaned. “Really, you should ask before you steal me away! This perfectly marvelous cat had caught me the juiciest meal!”

  Drizzt shook his head and smiled with a mixture of relief and disbelief.

  “Oh, splendid,” Regis cried. “You have found my gemstone. I thought that I had lost it; for some reason it didn’t make the journey with the cat and me.”

  Drizzt handed the ruby back to him. The cat could take someone along on its travels through the planes? Drizzt resolved to explore this facet of Guenhwyvar’s power later.

  He stroked the cat’s neck, then released it back to its own world where it could further recuperate. “Come, Regis,” he said grimly. “Let us see where we might be of assistance.”

  Regis shrugged resignedly and stood to follow the drow. When they crested the top of the ruins and saw the carnage spread out below them, the halfling realized the enormity of the destruction. His legs nearly faltered under him, but he managed, with some help
from his agile friend, to make the descent.

  “We won?” he asked Drizzt when they neared the level of the field, unsure if the people of Ten-Towns had labeled what he saw before him victory or defeat.

  “We survived,” Drizzt corrected.

  A shout went up suddenly as a group of fishermen, seeing the two companions, rushed toward them, yelling with abandon. “Wizard-slayer and tower-breaker!” they cried.

  Drizzt, ever humble, lowered his eyes.

  “Hail Regis,” the men continued, “the hero of Ten-Towns!”

  Drizzt turned a surprised but amused eye on his friend. Regis merely shrugged helplessly, acting as much the victim of the error as Drizzt.

  The men caught hold the halfling and hoisted him to their shoulders. “We shall carry you in glory to the council taking place within the city!” one proclaimed. “You, above all others, should have a say in the decisions that will be made!” Almost as an afterthought, the man said to Drizzt. “You can come too, drow.”

  Drizzt declined. “All hail Regis,” he said, a smile splayed across his face. “Ah, little friend, ever you have the fortune to find gold in the mud where others wallow!” He clapped the halfling on the back and stood aside as the procession began.

  Regis looked back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes as though he were merely going along for the ride.

  But Drizzt knew better.

  * * *

  The drow’s amusement was short-lived.

  Before he had even moved away from the spot, two dwarves hailed him.

  “It is good that we have found ye, friend elf,” said one. The drow knew at once that they bore grim news.

  “Bruenor?” he asked.

  The dwarves nodded. “He lies near death, even now he might be gone. He has asked for ye.”

  Without another word, the dwarves led Drizzt across the field to a small tent they had set up near their tunnel exits and escorted him in.

  Inside candles flickered softly. Beyond the single cot, against the wall opposite the entrance, stood Wulfgar and Catti-brie, their heads bent reverently.

  Bruenor lay on the cot, his head and chest wrapped in bloodstained bandages. His breathing was raspy and shallow, as though each breath would be his last. Drizzt moved solemnly to his side, stoically determined to hold back the uncharacteristic tears that welled in his lavender eyes. Bruenor would prefer strength.

  “Is it…the elf?” Bruenor gasped when he saw the dark form over him.

  “I have come, dearest of friends,” Drizzt replied.

  “To see…me on me way?”

  Drizzt couldn’t honestly answer so blunt a question. “On your way?” He forced a laugh from his constricting throat. “You have suffered worse! I’ll hear no talk of dying—who then would find Mithril Hall?”

  “Ah, my home…” Bruenor settled back at the name and seemed to relax, almost as if he felt that his dreams would carry him through the dark journey before him. “Ye’re to come with me, then?”

  “Of course,” Drizzt agreed. He looked to Wulfgar and Catti-brie for support, but lost in their own grief, they kept their eyes averted.

  “But not now, no, no,” Bruenor explained. “Wouldn’t do with the winter so close!” He coughed. “In the spring. Yes, in the spring.” His voice trailed away, and his eyes closed.

  “Yes, my friend,” Drizzt agreed. “In the spring. I shall see you to your home in the spring!”

  Bruenor’s eyes cracked open again, their deathly glaze washed away by a hint of the old sparkle. A contented smile widened across the dwarf’s face, and Drizzt was happy that he had been able to comfort his dying friend.

  The drow looked back to Wulfgar and Catti-brie and they, too, were smiling. At each other, Drizzt noted curiously.

  Suddenly, to Drizzt’s surprise and horror, Bruenor sat up and tore away the bandages.

  “There!” he roared to the amusement of the others in the tent. “Ye’ve said it, and I have witnesses to the fact!”

  Drizzt, after nearly falling over with the initial shock, scowled at Wulfgar. The barbarian and Catti-brie fought hard to subdue their laughter.

  Wulfgar shrugged, and a chuckle escaped. “Bruenor said that he would cut me down to the height of a dwarf if I said a word!”

  “And so he would have!” Catti-brie added. The two of them made a hasty exit. “A council in Bryn Shander,” Wulfgar explained hastily. Outside the tent, their laughter erupted unheeded.

  “Damn you, Bruenor Battlehammer!” the drow scowled. Then unable to stop himself, he threw his arms around the barrel-shaped dwarf and hugged him.

  “Get it over with,” Bruenor groaned, accepting the embrace. “But be quick. We’ve a lot o’ work to do through the winter! Spring’ll be here sooner than ye think, and on the first warm day we leave for Mithril Hall!”

  “Wherever that might be,” Drizzt laughed, too relieved to be angered by the trick.

  “We’ll make it, drow!” Bruenor cried. “We always do!”

  Epilogue

  The people of Ten-Towns and their barbarian allies found the winter following the battle a difficult one, but by pooling their talents and resources, they managed to survive. Many councils were held throughout those long months with Cassius, Jensin Brent, and Kemp representing the people of Ten-Towns, and Wulfgar and Revjak speaking for the barbarian tribes. The first order of business was to officially recognize and condone the alliance of the two peoples, though many on both sides were strongly opposed.

  Those cities left untouched by Akar Kessell’s army were packed full of refugees during the brutal winter. Reconstruction began with the first signs of spring. When the region was well on its way to recovery, and after the barbarian expedition following Wulfgar’s directions returned with the dragon treasure, councils were held to divide the towns among the surviving people. Relations between the two peoples almost broke down several times and were held together only by the commanding presence of Wulfgar and the continued calm of Cassius.

  When all was finally settled, the barbarians were given the cities of Bremen and Caer-Konig to rebuild, the homeless of Caer-Konig were moved into the reconstructed city of Caer-Dineval, and the refugees of Bremen who did not wish to live among the tribesmen were offered homes in the newly built city of Targos.

  It was a difficult situation, where traditional enemies were forced to put aside their differences and live in close quarters. Though victorious in the battle, the people of the towns could not call themselves winners. Everyone had suffered tragic losses; no one had come out better for the fight.

  Except Regis.

  The opportunistic halfling was awarded the title of First Citizen and the finest house in all of Ten-Towns for his part in the battle. Cassius readily surrendered his palace to the “tower-breaker.” Regis accepted the spokesman’s offer and all of the other numerous gifts that rolled in from every city, for though he hadn’t truly earned the accolades awarded him, he justified his good fortune by considering himself a partner of the unassuming drow. And since Drizzt Do’Urden wasn’t about to come to Bryn Shander and collect the rewards, Regis figured that it was his duty to do so.

  This was the pampered lifestyle that the halfling had always desired. He truly enjoyed the excessive wealth and luxuries, though he would later learn that there was indeed a hefty price to be paid for fame.

  * * *

  Drizzt and Bruenor had spent the winter in preparation for their search for Mithril Hall. The drow intended to honor his word, though he had been tricked, because life hadn’t changed much for him after the battle. Although he was in truth the hero of the fight, he still found himself barely tolerated among the people of Ten-Towns. And the barbarians, other than Wulfgar and Revjak, openly avoided him, mumbling warding prayers to their gods whenever they inadvertently crossed his path.

  But the drow accepted the shunning with his characteristic stoicism.

  * * *

  “The whispers in town say that you have given your voice at council to Revjak,” C
atti-brie said to Wulfgar on one of her many visits to Bryn Shander.

  Wulfgar nodded. “He is older and wiser in many ways.”

  Catti-brie drew Wulfgar under the uncomfortable scrutiny of her dark eyes. She knew that there were other reasons for Wulfgar stepping down as king. “You mean to go with them,” she stated flatly.

  “I owe it to the drow,” was Wulfgar’s only explanation as he turned away, in no mood to argue with the fiery girl.

  “Again you parry the question,” Catti-brie laughed. “You go to pay no debt! You go because you choose the road!”

  “What could you know of the road?” Wulfgar growled, pulled in by the girl’s painfully accurate observation. “What could you know of adventure?”

  Catti-brie’s eyes sparkled disarmingly. “I know,” she stated flatly. “Every day in every place is an adventure. This you have not yet learned. And so you chase down the distant roads, hoping to satisfy the hunger for excitement that burns in your heart. So go, Wulfgar of Icewind Dale. Follow your heart’s trail and be happy!

  “Perhaps when you return you will understand the excitement of simply being alive.” She kissed him on the cheek and skipped to the door.

  Wulfgar called after her, pleasantly surprised by her kiss. “Perhaps then our discussions will be more agreeable!”

  “But not as interesting!” was her parting response.

  * * *

  One fine morning in early spring, the time finally came for Drizzt and Bruenor to leave. Catti-brie helped them pack their overstuffed sacks.

  “When we’ve cleared the place, I’ll take ye there!” Bruenor told the girl one more time. “Sure yer eyes’ll shine when ye see the rivers runnin’ silver in Mithril Hall!”